


Sink Between Stars

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [50]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: It’s not as though Loki’s never died before. Though perhapsdiedis the wrong way to put it.





	Sink Between Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: If we only live once, I wanna live with you. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

It’s not as though Loki’s never died before. Though perhaps _died_ is the wrong way to put it. He is a god, after all. More like: one version of him has given up the ghost before, let go of one incarnation and exchanged it for another that’s prettier or trickier or both.

That he would live again after Thanos was not a question. It was an actual fact.

The true question, as he sank between stars, was what he’d look like when he returned.

He’s gone through phases over the past thousand years, periods when he favored one shape over another. A brutish one, for awhile, a body sketched by big shoulders and hands that could crush granite, a true son of the Aesir. That he and Thor were brothers was never in question then. Odin had hated it, made that hate known, and that only made Loki cling to it longer, when he might have grown bored of it on his own.

Next a guise inspired by the fields, by the wheat and tall grass that bent in the wind but did not break; tall and thin, that body had been, a nod to his parentage. Something more akin to what was once his natural state. Sometimes, just to stoke Odin’s fury, he’d let his skin run blue at the most inopportune moments: at court, in the midst of dreadful feast, in the All-Father’s garden when he was being chastised or screamed at or both. He felt more himself in that incarnation, more at ease. His magic had never been stronger.

But the true magic was that Thor never gave a damn what he looked like, what color his skin was or how skinny his hips. He kissed Loki with the same fervor, touched him with the same exasperating reverence, fucked him with the same joy in each and every guise, even when Loki wore curves. For there were many years when Loki wore soft, unavoidable bosoms and moved through the worlds with long legs and broad thighs he could catch his brother between, could drown him in sweetness and slick. He liked the contrast between the immutable lines of Thor’s body and the yielding lines of his own, the way they moved together in battle and in bed. He liked being underestimated, too; somehow, their more careless enemies feared him less in that guise than any other and oh, what an advantage that had been, for it seemed his powers were never greater than when he was discounted as a threat. That body had given rise to more blood than any other.

Lifetimes ago, that had been, even for a god. And as he drifted in the dreamworld between life and the infinite darkness, he found that he missed it. Missed the sway of such a body, the weight of it. Missed the scratch of Thor’s beard between his breasts, too, the sounds that his brother made when he pushed that great blond head down to his clit and held him there, drove himself mad on Thor’s tongue, the stretch of two big, eager fingers.


End file.
